


greasy hands, greedy mouth

by bulut



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Bathroom Sex, Gas Station, Lust at First Sight, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Semi-Public Sex, Wordcount: 1.000-5.000, but not without a lot of exposition, mutual handjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-04
Updated: 2020-11-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 04:53:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27389011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bulut/pseuds/bulut
Summary: It's dangerous out there in the dark, but you get off on danger, don't you?
Relationships: Azumane Asahi/Kageyama Tobio
Comments: 2
Kudos: 21





	greasy hands, greedy mouth

**Author's Note:**

> expect a fight scene between a breaking up couple (minor physical aggression that doesn't find its mark) and unhygienic details about public bathrooms.

(Nights are always the same:

look different, but are the same.

Different length,

different shades of navy blue,

sometimes black,

sometimes grey,

but always the same longing in my heart

the same itch in my fingertips

and the same ache in my groin

always the same requiem for the lover I’ve never had.)

Behind the counter is the best place one could be at in a petrol station after midnight.

The muggy summer night air is stifling under the low ceiling, but at least he’s close to the fan and has a chair to sit in. That’s as far as the advantages go, though. Around him, the dim light casts ugly shadows over every surface as it catches on the dirt collected in the lampshade. The quiet of the shop blends in with night bugs chirping. Asahi fits in the shady environment well with his frightening height, bushy beard and dark eyes; his ever-changing shiftmates wouldn’t dream of crossing him, but at this point in time, it’s boring more than heartbreaking as it used to be when their scarce customers conduct their business without so much as breathing in his direction.

The narrow range of cigarette brands they offer, the lemon-flavoured lollipops two days away from their expiration date, the kettle by the sink in the backroom, they’re always the same. The toilet where dirt has settled in irrevocably through years, where nobody other than Asahi bothers to clean from time to time, and only for his own sake, too—it’s always the same.

His shiftmate sleeping and leaving him to both man the counter and fill the odd car passing through, grease on his hands and the aftermath of toxic chemical stench stuck on the roof of his mouth, it’s also the same.

A petrol station is the embodiment of the selfishness of the human and the loneliness of the night.

Asahi is tracing vivid patterns of his own imagination on the underside of his cap visor when he hears the commotion. There’s the sound of brakes, two doors slamming shut consecutively, and angry hissing.

“You can’t call it off like this!”

“I’ve been giving signs for months, you just refused to see!”

Something latches onto another, some raincoat-sounding fabric whishes and the second voice yelps. “Let—go!”

“Tobio, this is not the time, nor the place,” the other voice tries to reason, desperation colouring the previously mellow night air.

“I’m not going back to your place.” Approaching stomps follow the statement, a tall man with a raincoat tied around his waist entering Asahi’s vision through the yellowed glass of the convenience store.

“Then don’t, but let me drop you off at yours, at least,” the man outside Asahi’s line of vision pleads.

“I’m not getting on your car!” the man with the raincoat, Tobio, screams as he hurls himself into the shop. He homes in on Asahi, and yells, “Hide me!”

Flabbergasted, Asahi could only watch the second man, the kind of confidence-exuding guy with two-toned hair and a lip piercing Asahi would have been intimidated by under different circumstances, running towards the door. He makes for the door, stopping just short of opening as the stack of lollipops the other man has aimed at him crashes into it. He steps over the lollipops and stops there, raising his hands to placate Tobio, who has now got a hold of a box of chocolate bars.

Asahi is spurred into action by the mess being made that he will have to clean up afterwards, abandoning his spot behind the counter to break up the fight. His shiftmate since yesterday, Sugawara, awakens, but does nothing to help Asahi, instead watching the scene unfold in barely contained amusement.

“I’m afraid you’ll have to stop wreaking havoc in the shop,” Asahi informs in his tough-guy voice he’s perfected over the months he’s been working in this shady establishment. “And maybe carry on this fight elsewhere.”

“I’m not carrying on with anything,” Tobio snaps from behind him. “Go away, Atsumu.”

Now named, Atsumu slaps a hand over his face. “How are you going to go back home?”

“It’s none of your business,” Tobio barks, pushing Asahi towards the man who clearly used to be his boyfriend, and who he clearly doesn’t consider as such anymore. When Asahi cuts a shocked look at him over his shoulder, he’s met with a face that shouldn’t have caught him by surprise the way it does, should have been hinted at by the venom in the voice. The eyes glinting with pure hatred captivate him.

“Chuck him out!” Tobio commands, and Asahi can only obey.

“Please do as he says,” he appeals to the other man. “I promise I’ll call a taxi for him when he wants to leave.”

Atsumu swallows his protest, asking for a slip of paper and a pen instead.

“I’m leaving my number in case you need to call,” he says as he writes. He drops some coins on the counter for the lollipops before he leaves.

It’s only cicadas for a long breath before Sugawara pipes in. “You might want to treat this young man to a cup of tea.”

The man in question indeed looks younger than the both of them, about in his early twenties. Sugawara continues. “I’ll be outside. I can manage if a customer comes.”

Sugawara has a soothing voice and a reassuring smile despite his taste for disarray and drama. Asahi nods in gratitude before he directs his full attention to the mysterious Tobio.

All fight has drained out of him now that his boyfriend is gone; he’s slumped against the counter. He’s glaring at his feet through squinted eyes in what Asahi hazards is an effort to stop angry tears from coming. His dark fringe conceals eyes Asahi caught a blue glimpse of before. With his unusual eye colour and well-endowed height, he’s different, though not so much different than anything Asahi’s ever seen, and certainly not different enough to warrant the intensity of the interest he’s sparked in him.

What makes him special is the fire in his eyes. Asahi is not used to such a raw expression directed at him, though the expression isn’t really _for_ him. The man just went through a bad breakup in front of an audience.

This doesn’t stop Asahi from placing a hand on the small of his back to help him stay upright, and usher him into the screened off break room that stands in as a kitchen.

He gestures at the only seat in the area, a low chair by a coffee table. Tobio takes it, untying his raincoat and hanging it on the back of the chair. He’s wearing plain black sweatpants under it that are somehow the exact same shade of black as his short-sleeved T-shirt, and the now unobtrused view of his full black attire—that hugs him in all the right ways—isn’t helping at all.

“Would you like some green tea?” Asahi squeaks into the near-silence beneath the whirring of the fan now behind the screen. His tough guy façade is crumbling, then, underneath the claws of a previously dormant creature in his stomach now sniffing at the air in eager anticipation.

Insufficient light, off-white walls discoloured from years of dirt and dust, the impossibly pleasant smell of sweat from the warm body he’s sharing the space with overpowering anything else: the atmosphere is stained with sex.

He swallows.

“Yes, thanks,” Tobio responds to his offer, something in his voice beckoning Asahi’s attention, and Asahi wouldn’t ever dream of discompliance.

Compliance is a grave mistake.

Tobio’s damp, glittering eyes glide up and down Asahi’s body, skidding to a stop somewhere around the waist. His gaze defocuses as he loses seconds stuck on the same spot, then flies up to Asahi’s face, head tilting right and mouth clicking open by a fraction.

“The name’s Tobio,” that mouth says, but Asahi doesn’t register the voice at first—only watches the lips form the words. The lips in question are verging on purple under the abuse of a perfect set of teeth, peeled raw and shining with spit. Asahi’s tongue darts out to wet his own.

It brings Tobio back to himself, eyes scurrying away as Asahi turns his back at him to hide his embarrassment. He busies his hands with a teabag and a bottle of water he pours into the limescaled kettle.

“Call me Asahi,” he pipes, sounding like he’s born two and a half minutes before a vampire bat even though he calculated a conversational voice.

He realises his mistake when the words are out of his mouth.

“Okay, Asahi,” Tobio breathes, and half of the water in the bottle spills all over the counter and himself as it slips out of his hands. Asahi fails in hiding the mess from Tobio’s unassuming eyes as he steps sideways and slips on the puddle forming on the floor, almost toppling over.

He shouldn’t breathe out names like that. He really, really shouldn’t breathe out Asahi’s name like that.

Rather, he should do that, but he should pick a better place.

The kettle ticks off. Asahi pours Tobio a cup and places it on the coffee table. Tobio’s eyes perform another agonisingly slow slide-up from Asahi’s hand to his shoulder, widening as if he’s fascinated by what he sees.

“I’m going to the loo first,” Asahi squeaks and floors it to the toilet.

He realises too late that he’s effectively trapped himself. The door opens behind him, Tobio’s face falling on the mirror reversed and strange. At the absolute command his eyes hold, and the confidence in his steps, Asahi hastes to turn around as if he’s caught doing something inappropriate.

There’s a few centimetres’ worth of height difference between them, Asahi holding the slight advantage, but he finds that the angle he sees Tobio from actually tips the balance in Tobio’s favour, because his eyelashes tease his eyebrows as he looks up, impossibly long, and his eyes catch the ugly white gleam of the fluorescent lamp, morphing it into something alluring and beautiful.

Asahi nods, keeps nodding for approximately ten seconds, a bonfire in his head and the creature running rampant in his stomach, but he’s petrified and the smoke from the bonfire wisps into chains of, _is this right, is this right, is this right_.

“Tob—” he starts but can’t complete the name. “I was just coming back…”

Tobio’s narrowing eyes annihilate the rest of his blatant lie. He was probably going to lock himself in the cubicle.

“That guy you saw…” Tobio says, almost growls in that deep, raspy voice of his, “I dumped him and I’m not taking him back. If that’s what you’re fretting about.”

To Asahi’s horror, being read like an open book by this perfect stranger only works to arouse him more. His body responds to the coarse voice and the strong hands now on his collar.

Tobio sends him a wry smile, cocksure and amused like a cat to a mouse, and yanks him down, their lips colliding.

Petrol station toilets are only marginally better places to use bedroom voices in than petrol station kitchens. But, Asahi concludes as Tobio walks them backwards into the cubicle and reaches around him to draw the bolt closed, he doesn’t care. Tobio clutches his face, forcing his head backwards; his entire body is leaning against the cubicle door he previously thought too dirty to touch without washing his hands immediately after, his braided hair he takes painstaking measures to keep clean wiping the surface, and he doesn’t care.

They break apart for no longer than absolutely necessary to catch their breath. Busybodied hands roam all over Asahi’s torso as the two find their way back to each other, teeth clacking painfully at first but a rhythm seeping into their movements soon after. Tobio can’t seem to follow different movement patterns with different body parts, so his hands soon slide back up to cup Asahi’s face and stay there as he bites Asahi’s lower lip, licking at the spot in gyrating movements and vacuuming coherent thought out of his brain. Their lips, slick with spit, slide this way and that, desperate and obscene, Tobio mewling into Asahi’s mouth as Asahi’s arms encircle his body.

His hands worm under Tobio’s shirt to rest on the scorching hot skin of his lower back, but Tobio disagrees. As their lips disconnect, breaths intermingling humid and hot in the minuscule space, he demands, “On my ass.”

Asahi pulls down Tobio’s sweatpants and boxers low enough for his hands to meet the bare skin of Tobio’s ass, stealing a gasp. It’s a hazy thought in his head: he’s only ever this unabashed, this daring when he’s beyond aroused, and he is beyond aroused in this cramped cubicle, humidity and dirt painting it black between the tiles, the unpleasant smell of a public toilet that’s only ever as mild as it is now because Asahi braved his disgust and cleaned it earlier that night, germs on surfaces, their dirty noises fitting right in.

Tobio breaks the kiss, too worked up to keep dancing around, and pushes Asahi toward the toilet seat. With the way he clings to Asahi and blindly grabs at his crotch, it’s clear he wants him to sit down. He does, and Tobio climbs on his lap, one foot kicking the trash can.

He’s still clinging to Asahi like a lifeline, devouring his lips, but Asahi’s rhythm gradually slows down to his natural calm pace, grounding Tobio. He pours his frustration into his movements, the ex-boyfriend haunting his fingers and, through them, the hair at Asahi’s nape, the knobs of his spine. Still, bygone moments and memories are bound to defeat in the face of the here and the now, physical sensations of roaming hands and the stale air filling their noses. As Tobio starts grinding against him, Asahi drags his tongue across Tobio’s bottom lip one last time, pulling back to unzip his pants and finally bring about the much desired skin-to-skin contact. Tobio drags down his sweatpants and boxers until his cock is free, not losing any second in wrapping his hand around the both of them.

“It’ll sting afterwards if we go dry,” Asahi croaks, fixated on Tobio’s hand where it forms an almost closed circle around the both of them. Big hands, almost as big as Asahi’s.

“Don’t care,” Tobio pants, but doesn’t fight when Asahi spits on his palm and gently coaxes Tobio’s grip open to get his own under it.

Now he can see the exact difference in their hand sizes. His fingers are shorter, thicker, but overall bigger. His nails are not as smooth and shiny as Tobio’s, whose hands are just as pretty as the rest of him, not the kind of hands Asahi could ever dare to imagine touching him so eagerly, but here Tobio is, breath fanning Asahi’s neck, hand limp over his as Asahi gives them a few experimental pumps. Understanding passes between them at the disappointing weakness of the sensation; soon, Tobio’s hand is wrapped around Asahi’s cock and Asahi’s hand around Tobio’s.

The reverse grip is difficult to get used to, but they’re nothing if not eager. Their knuckles keep knocking into each other on the way, Tobio’s breathing more and more frantic by the second; Asahi’s head hits the wall behind him, and despite the awkward angles of hands, despite the stinging friction between his cock and Tobio’s completely dry hand, this is the most intoxicated he’s ever felt.

Tobio, now with his head on Asahi’s shoulder as though he’s too weak to even keep it upright, keeps changing the angle of his grip, gifting new sensations in every turn of the way; he scrapes the underside of Asahi’s cock with his fingernails, coordinating it with the teeth grazing at Asahi’s throat. Asahi tries to learn from Tobio’s methods of driving him insane and apply it on Tobio, but it’s impossible with the dampness on his neck from Tobio’s hot breath, Tobio’s thumb at the tip of his cock, Tobio’s gasps in his ear. He hopes what he can achieve on autopilot is enough: alternating pressure by perodically tightening his grip, stealing a moan when he times it with his tongue lapping at the bruise he’s sucked on the jutting tip of Tobio’s collarbone. Sneaking his hand under Tobio’s sweatpants and squeezing his thigh. Taking a moment to stop his ministrations, instead spreading Tobio’s legs further and pulling him closer.

Tobio’s breathing goes heavier and heavier where his head is rested on Asahi’s shoulder, his hand barely keeping up with the pumping anymore. In contrast, Asahi finds his mind sharper than ever at the thought of walking (sprinting, really) Tobio towards the peak of his pleasure, determining the pace, orchestrating the coda, getting to see Tobio’s pretty face react to all of his ministrations.

He finds that he loves, loves having a warm, solid, heavy body in his lap as he gets off, he loves the graceful hands on him, he loves the profanities Tobio whimpers into his skin as he squirms in his Asahi’s hold, and he loves how his heart beats to the rhythm of another as he reaches his climax.

With a great sense of timing, Tobio closes his hand over Asahi’s cock to prevent a mess. Asahi’s grip on Tobio is slackened as he rides out his orgasm. His hand slips off completely as Tobio plants a messy, wet kiss on his neck, lips staying there as he, too, comes. His moan, the loudest noise to come out of either of them since they stopped talking, shoots straight to Asahi’s brain, echoing in its chambers, seizing his heart in the iron claws of infatuation—he wants nothing more than to worship the ground this gorgeous man walks on.

When he calms his breathing enough, Tobio lifts his head from Asahi’s shoulder, flashing him a dizzy smile with his eyes shut, and the pure bliss in his face seals the deal: Asahi’s brain short-circuits, his reason deserts him with a promise never to coming back, and the single thought left in his head makes it out unfiltered: “I’m taking you home tonight.”

“Mmhmm, buy me a toothbrush, too,” Tobio mumbles, collapsing back into Asahi’s embrace.

He has it so, so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading.


End file.
